


you are the one, i am the two

by buries



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9626735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: barry allen saves the world, but he doesn't save himself.or the one where barry allen repeats history, and iris west-allen refuses to give up. 2024-era westallen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for zi's prompt on tumblr, _westallen + We dance in the living room and / We move to the beating of our blood / You are the one, I am the two / I'm still the one that's in love with you_ , and ended up with this thing instead. what was supposed to be happy ended up being sad; i'm posting it now so i can stop nitpicking at it!
> 
> this is set in the future, based off of what little we know of 2024 based on that article. i've used some of what i know of the comics to influence this, but ultimately it's just my take on what i wouldn't mind for the show in 2024, since i'm apparently obsessed with westallen in this timeframe. that said, i know nothing of the science of this.
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. thanks for reading. title from ingrid michaelson's _still the one_. ♥

In August 2024, the Flash vanishes into thin air, the Reverse-Flash on his heels.

On the cusp of September 2024, Barry Allen saves the world.

But he doesn’t save himself.

*

She’s been writing this all down.

Lois once told her to document absolutely _everything_ , as it makes for a great story. Iris had read the tension in her smile and the way her eyes had creased in sadness, and had known she hadn’t meant it in the way many would think Lois Lane means anything. Although she lives and breathes investigative journalism, she lives a double life, that of a superheroine, saving her superhero from distress when he needs it most.

Iris listens to her. She’s the Pulitzer journalist, after all. Placing good-natured journalistic rivalry aside, she purchases herself a journal and begins to write down everything.

“One for the kids,” Lois had said. “Sometimes it’s nice to read about their dad that hasn’t been heavily edited and written with a particular angle in mind.”

So Iris writes and writes and writes, about The Flash and his magical ability in inspiring hope wherever he goes, from Central City to Starling City, Gotham and Metropolis, and to how Bartholomew Allen becomes an incredible C.S.I., making Police Chief Joseph West proud. She writes and writes and writes until she doesn’t want to write anymore.

And so she asks him, “Hey, Bear, do you remember when you kissed me by the wharf? What colour jacket was I wearing?”

Of course she knows. She’s made him tell this story a thousand times over.

She looks at him expectantly, hopefully.

He doesn’t answer.

*

“What are you doing?” Wally sits on the armrest of her chair. It’s wooden and uncomfortable for her to rest her elbow on, and so she doesn’t. Hospital chairs aren’t comfortable. They don’t recline, they don’t shift up and down, and the cushions are always beaten just like the faces she’s observed as she’s walked by.

Still, she writes as if she’s in the chair of her desk. That one moves up and down; she often pulls it up when determination settles into her muscles and she gets stuck inside of a story. She moves it up when she finds herself restless, unattached to the assignment she’s been given.

She can’t move this chair up or down, but she has moved closer to the side of the bed.

He has a cup of coffee in hand, but doesn’t offer it to her. She won’t take it; she’s forgotten she’d even asked for a drink.

Iris sighs, lifting her arm to rest her elbow against that armrest, then letting it fall as soon as she does. Closing her journal, she leans back and looks up at her brother. His features are sharper with age, eyes brighter, smile wider. No matter how cruel the world happens to be, he remains a spark of hope for her and this city.

“You’re doing the thing again,” he says gently. “Disappearing.” He lifts his hand to tap her forehead gently, before letting his hand fall to her shoulder and squeezing it. Then he looks to the bed, and she almost doesn’t let her gaze follow. “How’s he doing?”

She’s been diligently watching that bed for hours on end, days upon days. She’s counted, tallying them in her journal as she knows he would. She lets her eyes study her brother for a moment longer, leaving his question unanswered. Letting her eyes trail over his strong jaw and his neck, she spies a scar beneath his chin she hasn’t asked the origin of.

“He hasn’t flatlined in a while,” she answers soberly. She rests back in her chair and places her hand on her stomach. It’s no longer flat, rounder now beneath her dress. If she wears his red jacket, she can hide her bump well enough. She’s shed it for now, but wonders, briefly, if wearing it might bring him back to her. “I think that’s a good sign.”

“It has to be,” Wally says. “He’s stabilising. Maybe his body’s getting better.”

Iris shrugs her shoulder and keeps her palm on her stomach. “We never should’ve let him do it, Wally. Go after Thawne like that.”

“He’s gone,” Wally says, looking down at her. His bright smile is gone, and she instantly regrets pulling it from where it had hung and shone so brightly. Oftentimes her brother is her moon where her father is merely the night sky they attach themselves to. She wishes for her little brother to shine down on her right now. “He’s gone for good, Iris. I can feel it.”

“Did you contact Jay?”

Wally nods.

“He thinks he’s gone, too. The Time Wraiths are gone. Black Flash is gone.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s almost like everything’s just … done. Settled.”

Iris glances toward the hospital bed, watching the rise and fall of Barry’s chest. “I don’t believe in happy endings,” she says quietly. “Time’s never settled.”

“I do,” Wally says. She feels his warm gaze linger on her. He doesn’t look away until she gazes up at him. “We won. We finally won. Trust me, time’s on our side.”

She lets her lips pull into a small smile, but it doesn’t last for too long. Her voice breaks when she asks, “At what cost, Wally?” She looks to Barry and how still he is, disliking how little space he takes up in the room. “I’ve lost my home.”

*

She writes in her journal once more, and forces herself to pause. “Hey, Bear,” she begins, not looking up, “why did the Speed Force take you to the wharf, when you were trapped inside of it?”

She looks to him expectantly, smile in place, and feels it fall as soon as she sees his eyes are still closed. It’s a story he loves to tell, and it’s one she’s heard him murmur to her stomach when it’s late at night and he can’t sleep.

Crestfallen, she falls back against the chair. “I hope you’re there right now.”

*

She only walks the perimeter of the hospital when Joe West pushes her out.

His hand’s light in her hair, tousling it until she awakens. She’d been dreaming of the Christmas Barry had bought their home — their real one, not a loft that was merely a pitstop along the way — and remembers how his smile had been so warm on her face. His hands on her arms had felt real, his feet tangled with her own a reassuring pressure she feels even now.

It dissipates in a burst of golden light when she feels fingers in her hair. 

Peering up at him, she smiles. “Hey.”

Joe smiles down at her. “How’s my favourite girl doing?”

“I’m your only daughter.”

“That’s why you’re my favourite.”

Iris rolls her eyes, and pulls herself to sit properly. With a slight groan, and a hand pressed to her belly, she straightens her spine as she rests her elbow against the armrest of her chair. “I’m okay,” she says. “Just tired.”

“I know,” he says. “I’ve been calling your house all night.”

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he regards her warmly. Joe pulls up the spare chair in the corner, dragging it as softly as he can along the floor until it’s next to hers. “Baby, you need to give yourself a break.”

Iris looks to the hospital bed and shakes her head.

“You _need_ to,” he reiterates, voice warm and firm. “While his body’s doing that thing it does,” he says, gesturing with a wave of his fingers toward Barry, “you have to make sure you’re looking after yours. And my grandkid.” He looks at her pointedly with a warm smile, and she can’t help but feel one pull at her lips to mirror his own.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

Joe nods with an affirmative hum. “You know I do,” he says. “If I believe in anything, it’s that kid right there.” He points toward Barry with a confident jab of his fingers. “You know I don’t get this science stuff. Whatever he’s done to himself, I don’t understand it, and I’m not going to pretend I do. But he went into the Speed Force before, remember? And he came out okay.”

Iris’ vision blurs, her throat feeling tight. “I had to pull him out with Cisco. He almost didn’t come back.”

“He came back,” he says, hand threading gently through her hair. “He came back. And he’s going to come back again. He just needs you to come back to. So you go for a walk, stretch your legs, get some fresh air. I need to have a word with Bear without you here.”

He looks over his shoulder, and that’s where Iris sees her leaning against the doorframe, keeping herself small. Caitlin wears a nice pencil skirt and the necklace she’d given her for Christmas last year. She lifts her hand tentatively in a shy wave.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

Joe shakes his head. “Nonsense,” he smiles. “You’re just in time.”

He looks pointedly at Iris. Pulling herself out of that chair is hard, as it’s almost become a part of her. It creaks, or perhaps she does, and she scratches the cricks in her back, pressing a hand to the small of it. She glances toward Barry and finds herself staring, getting a little too lost within the world she wishes to be in than the one she finds herself stranded.

Cold fingertips brush against her bare elbow. Iris looks to Caitlin, but before she leaves with her, she leans down to kiss Joe on the cheek.

Caitlin’s arm is in her own, warm where her fingertips are not. Their steps are a lot slower than they should be, but Iris finds the entire world has fallen into a habit of moving as slow as molasses. Her mind speeds up, even in the presence of frost.

He’s been in the hospital for too long. For someone with a fast metabolism and track record for healing broken bones, he should be all put back together again. Not even Caitlin seems to understand what’s happening.

“He’ll be okay, Iris,” she says. Her mind’s wandered, and Caitlin’s followed her, waiting patiently for Iris to break her own silence. They’re outside the hospital, in the cool fresh air. 

Iris breaks that silence with a sigh. 

Caitlin looks at her with her lips pinched, eyes warm. “It’s Barry. He’s always okay.”

Iris presses her lips together and nods. “I know,” she says. “I’m not.”

It’s then Caitlin stops her. Hands resting cooly on her upper arms, she wraps her up in a hug. For a woman who exudes literal ice, she’s the warmest being she’s ever touched. Iris finally lets herself cry into her shoulder, arms wrapping tight enough around her lithe frame she could shatter Dr Caitlin Snow into pieces with all her hope.

*

“Hey Bear,” she says, sitting on the edge of his bed this time. “Remember Earth-2?” She fiddles with his fingers, watching his expression as it doesn’t once shift. “Was Beyonce a part of Destiny’s Child? I can’t remember what Jesse said on our wedding day.” She lets herself smile, ducking her head and shaking it.

She folds her fingers inside the spaces of his.

“Can you tell me about Detective West again?” She looks up at him, biting her lip for a prolonged moment before releasing it. “And C.S.I. Bartholomew? I’m writing an article on destiny. I need you as my source.”

He doesn’t speak. But Iris keeps talking in the hope he’ll hear.

*

Lois Lane takes over writing stories of the Flash for her. Someone who studies both journalists may think Mrs Lane’s encroaching on Mrs West-Allen’s turf, but Iris knows she’s picking up the slack where Iris’ own hands aren’t strong enough to keep hold of the reins.

She writes articles like _The Flash: Central City’s Hero_ , _Superman: “I’m Lost Without My Friend”_ , and _Central City’s Guardian Angel._ She knows what Barry would say if he read the article. “This is the worst article I’ve ever read,” with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Superman doesn’t even know who I am!”

Of course, Barry’s opinion is every article written by Iris West-Allen is Pulitzer material, and every article that is not belongs in the compost.

She keeps a journal and writes her own articles, ones that aren’t for publication to the masses. She writes to him, of how she reads _The Runaway Dinosaur_ to both her boys, how she _thinks_ it’s a little boy, how she needs him to wake up and know he did what he set out to do.

Iris may avoid sitting in her chair, in front of her computer, and remain out of press conferences and not toss herself into the mix of asking the hard questions to billionaires who she knows aren’t as suave and innocent as they appear, but she still reports the news.

*

“‘The Flash Vanishes’,” she reads. “But he’s come home. I really want to bring this full circle, Bear. I really want to give this city the hope you’ve spent the last ten years writing.”

Iris sighs and shuts her journal. She studies him with her elbow against the arm of the chair. Then her eyes narrow. “ _Bartholomew_ ,” she says firmly, “you’re going to wake up. And when you wake up, I’m going to yell at you, because you _swore_ you wouldn’t do this to me again. Those first nine months without you ten years ago were the hardest nine months of my life. I didn’t have my best friend. I was directionless. And now you’re doing it again. You _promised_ me, Bear, and you know you should never go back on a pinky promise.”

She thinks she hears and sees a spike in the line dictating his heartbeat on the monitor. She feels hers pick up, even though she knows it’s just a fluke.

*

The Speed Force seems to have a fondness for Barry. She remembers him telling her, over and over, of how it’d taken the shapes of Joe West, Nora Allen, and herself. He’d always cry whenever he spoke of Nora Allen, and Iris found she always cried with him.

Caitlin tells her he’s fine, even on the rare occasion where he flatlines. His heart’s moving a bit too fast for the machines to keep up with, and so it always seems like he’s on the verge of death.

But he isn’t. He never is. That’s the thing about Barry Allen, he believes in the impossible while he _is_ the impossible. And Iris West-Allen believes in him.

“The fact he’s not flatlining is a good sign,” Caitlin says one day, her voice sympathetic and warm. “It’s a good sign, Iris.”

“He’ll wake up soon,” Cisco says. He’s got a Flash figurine in his hands. “He needs to. He needs to see this bad boy.”

“It just takes time,” Caitlin continues, looking to Iris who sits by his bed. She’s fiddling with his long fingers, waiting for them to curl into her own palm any moment now. “When Barry entered the Speed Force, his body makeup had to be shifted. I don’t know what happened _inside_ the energy field, but we know what happened last time.”

“He disintegrated,” Cisco supplies.

Caitlin nods. She speaks with her hands, placing the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “And the Speed Force repaired him, essentially. He came back united with it.”

“Said so himself.”

“The Flash of our world _is_ the fastest Flash in the Multiverse, and a part of that is because of his connection with the Speed Force. His _literal_ connection with it. By going into it to get the Time Wraiths, he reconnected with it.”

“He became stronger,” Cisco says, nodding. He looks down at the Flash figurine in his hand.

“So why isn’t he awake?” Iris asks. Her voice almost sounds pushy, so she swallows and grounds herself with a deep breath in. “Last time, it just spat him out.”

Cisco looks up from the figurine. “Jay said he went _everywhere_. He could hardly keep up.”

Caitlin continues, “Because he travelled through time, to many Earths. His body probably just needs some rest.”

Iris’ hand grips his tight. “He’s been resting for almost a month. I can’t do five more of these.”

“And you won’t have to,” Caitlin says, her expression sympathetically warm. “Trust me, Barry may be late a lot of the time, and some of that’s accidental and some intentional, but he wouldn’t be late for this.” Her gaze glides to her stomach, where Iris’ other hand rests.

“Fastest man alive, slowest healer,” Cisco says, shaking his head. He looks at Barry. “Dude, you’re missing Lady Gaga and Beyonce _finally_ sing ‘Telephone’ together.”

*

“Sometimes I think I remember that night on the porch,” she says. She knows she shouldn’t be lying beside him, but Iris West-Allen never listens to the rules when it comes to Bartholomew Allen. “The one you remember, the one I don’t. I sat where I sat, and you sat where you sat. I know this won’t make any sense,” she laughs lightly, “but I think I remember it. You looked so hopefully sad, and so cute, too.”

She lets her fingers trail up and down his shoulder. “I said I’d be here when you get back from wherever you needed to go.” He’s told her this story, over and over, but it’s now she thinks she can clearly see it. “So, I’m waiting, Bartholomew,” she says, “just like I promised. You’re supposed to come back with peace, just like you promised.”

*

Barry misses Lady Gaga and Beyonce singing ‘Telephone’ together for the first time in years, but Iris makes sure to watch it for him.

There’s been a few twitches of his hand. If he were anyone else, she’d write it off to nerves, growing restless from being trapped within a body that isn’t moving. But she knows what it means whenever Barry shifts in his sleep. The Speed Force within him is growing impatient to launch his body from one side of the city to the other. It’s often pulled him from the bed to sleepwalk, but Iris often believes that’s Barry walking partly into walls, so tired and unable to fully open his eyes he underestimates his own surroundings.

She’s been waiting for him to pull himself from the bed and walk straight into an unfamiliar wall.

Keeping her hand in his, she sits closely by his bed. He remains as he is, head tilted to the side. The bruising on his neck is fading, but it’s still an ugly purple where it sits. She often likes purple on him, but now she’s beginning to detest this shade and the texture of it.

She doesn’t look at it. In her lap is a small book. She holds it with her other hand, fingers keeping it wide open.

“Once there was a little dinosaur called a Maiasaur, who lived with his mother. One day, he told his mother, ‘I wish I were special like the other dinosaurs. If I were a T. rex, I could chomp with my ferocious teeth!’” she reads. 

“‘But if you were a T. rex,’ said his mother, ‘how would you hug me with your tiny little arms?’”

She smiles to herself, sparing him a glance. “You were always better at the voices than me, Bear.”

Looking back to the book, she gives his hand a squeeze. “‘I wish I were an Apatosaurus,’ said the little dinosaur, ‘so with my long neck I could see high above the treetops.’ 

“‘But if you were an Apatosaurus,’ said his mother, ‘how would you hear me in the treetops when I told you I love you?’” 

Iris stares down at the book in her lap. With a sigh, she feels the energy seep from her. Keeping her gaze there, she sees the printed words begin to swim. She’s done her best to keep from crying, but this book’s stopped being something she can barely look at and has become a piece of Nora Allen she wishes to embrace. It’s a piece of Barry she can’t reject any longer.

She doesn’t continue reading aloud.

“‘What makes you so special, little Maiasaur?’ said his mother,” he says. Iris stares at the text in front of her as his raspy voice recites slowly, “‘Is it your ferocious teeth or long neck or pointy beak?’”

Looking over at him, she finds his head’s tilted toward her, eyes a little sleepy. His smile’s curved in a way that has her heart racing, and she finds his seems to be doing the exact same thing when she peeks at the monitor. “‘What makes you special is out of all of the different dinosaurs in the big, wide world, you have the mother who is just right for you and who will always love you.’”

Iris feels a wet tear drop onto the back of her palm. “Hey.”

He shifts on the bed, but doesn’t try to pull himself out of it quickly. “Hey,” he says, brows beginning to furrow. She watches as he looks around, his current living quarters beginning to dawn on him. “I’m late,” he murmurs, then looks at her. “I’m sorry.”

She laughs wetly, “Shut up, Barry.”

She doesn’t quite know if he reaches for her or her for him, but once she places that book on the side of his bed, she’s lying next to him. The thin blankets are soft on her skin, but his hands are even more so.

With her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, she hugs him to her. Knowing it won’t hurt him, broken bones and bruised muscles already under intense repair, she tries to slot herself into the spaces that are hers and hers alone. She murmurs quietly, “You did it.”

He hums. “We,” he corrects softly. 

She thinks she hears him groan. “We should really call Caitlin.”

He shushes her. “In a minute,” he says, closing his eyes. He holds her to him. “I’ve got all the time in the world now.”

*

“Hey Bear,” she says, his arm slung around her shoulders as hers is around his waist.

“Yeah?” he looks down at her as they walk slowly through the hospital halls. He’s wearing his clothes, jeans and converse shoes, and she’s wearing his red jacket.

Joe walks ahead of them, carrying a bag that’s mostly empty of clothes. Inside of it is a plethora of snacks Cisco had bought for Barry, believing over the weeks of him being unconscious the presence of hospital food would wake him up.

Cisco likes to believe it did. Sometimes Iris does too.

“You owe me fries,” she says, peering up at him with a smile.

His brow furrows, the smile curving handsomely against his mouth. He waits for her to talk, and she’s in no hurry to supply him with an answer to his unspoken question.

“Do you remember when you said if you were an hour late, you’d give me all your fries?”

He laughs lightly. “That was a year ago, Iris.”

“It still counts,” she says, looking at him pointedly.

He smiles, “I owe you fries.” Holding her closely to him, he stops walking. She looks down and notices how he’s thrust out his pinky. She smiles, wrapping hers around his. He brings it to his lips, and she laughs. “Promise.”

“Promise,” she says. 

His arm slides along her shoulders once more, and they begin to walk slowly again. “It’s good to be home.”

*

Iris West-Allen writes an article, and titles it: _The Flash Comes Home, As Promised_. 

**Author's Note:**

> note: _the runaway dinosaur_ was taken from the flash script.


End file.
